


Full Bloom

by xanemarths



Series: 200 Years of (Holy) War [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Gen, Gender non-conformity, M/M, Marriage customs, Oifey is smart at tactics and tactics only. Emotions? what are those, Wedding Planning, Weddings, background Sigurd/Deirdre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 18:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanemarths/pseuds/xanemarths
Summary: Oifey had no problem with being Sigurd's ringbearer. Of course he was excited to be the ringbearer at the wedding of his dearest cousin, to wear a fancy little suit and cravat; it was no problem at all!Or, at least, it wasn't a problem until the flowers started to arrive, and he catches himself reconsidering. Thankfully, Shannan's distaste for Granvallean Customs turns into some relatively solid advice.





	Full Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Fujimori Natsu: has a running gag about Oifey dressing in a maid's outfit and Sigurd having no issue with it
> 
> me: oh so you mean Oifey is gender non-conforming and enjoys wearing traditionally feminine clothing and Sigurd encourages him because he knows it makes Oifey happy and he's a supportive dad? Wow! Thanks! no takesbacksies.
> 
> Also Seliph is nb for all of the two/three lines they exist in. I could really just, stop using old names for them and upgrade to Seliph, but I think I've already called them Celice in this series and I don't want to change it, and also "Celice" feels just a tad more gender neutral to me, which works just a bit better with the canon of this series. Or at least that's what I tell myself.

There's bustle and joy in every corner of Castle Evans; the servants dust and polish every last inch of the place, checking and rechecking that the silverware is truly sparkling, that the wooden floors are almost shiny enough to spot your reflection in them. Banners are hung from every balcony and bannister, both in the traditional red and white of Chalphy and, in the absence of Deirdre having a family crest of her own, the grand blacks, golds, and blues of glorious Granvalle. King Jamke would not allow for too many of his own country’s flowers to be picked and used for the displays, but thankfully Castle Evans is near enough to the Granvallean border for ease of imports, and before long it seems as though every surface in the castle is covered with them, sweet blooming things that, according to his research into such matters, would convey a message of undying love and devotion on what was to be the happiest day of his distant older cousin’s life.

Oifey, however, can’t quite say the same thing about himself.

He heaves a sigh and sits down on the staircase, idly stroking at a leaf that so happened to be tickling his face just a few seconds before. He keeps his gaze pointedly away from the rest of the flowery garland, though, as if by pretending they weren’t really there, he can simply make them - poof. Disappear.

It’s stupid, really. He hadn’t felt like this _earlier_. He’d jumped for joy when Sigurd had offered him a place in his entourage, told him that there was no one else he’d rather have serving as his ringbearer. He’d look so _perfect_ , the man had insisted, in Granvallean formalwear; he’d need a new tunic, and a little cravat, and then he’d look so _proper_ , now wouldn’t he?

Oifey’s heart had soared, and he’d spent the rest of the night dancing around and telling anyone who’d listen about Sigurd’s plans.

And then the flowers arrived.

Oifey yanks the leaf off the plant and starts tearing it into pieces, still refusing to look at it. It was nonsense. Pure nonsense. He said he wanted to be in Sigurd’s entourage, and he still did. He really did. It was, just…

He finally glances down at the tiny, torn up scraps of leaf in his hands, before curling his fingers around them and crushing them.

It feels almost _unfair_. But that’s probably pathetic of him.

As though he had telepathically sensed Oifey’s distress, Shannan appears, quite suddenly, on the stair beside him. This has become enough of a regular occurrence that it does not startle Oifey as much as it once had; Shannan had a remarkable talent for being dead quiet when he wanted to.

“Hello,” says Oifey, not quite meeting the other boy’s eyes - not yet.

“Hello. What are you doing on the stairs.” Shannan sits down beside him, legs crossing under him. “You seem to get lost in thought often.”

“I like thinking,” Oifey shoots back, his voice rising slightly with a hostility he neither expected nor wanted to convey, and he immediately clamps his mouth shut. He stares intensely into his lap, pretending to be fascinated with the fabric of his pants; when he sneaks a glance at Shannan, the boy is distinctly unimpressed.

“Yes, I am well aware that you are a ‘huge nerd’, as Alec told me. You do not seem to be having a happy thinking, though. Your face is very gloomy. What is wrong? This is a happy time, is it not? Your dad is to marry the love of his life!”

Oifey can't help but give an amused snort at that. “I'm not entirely sure I'd call Sigurd my dad, persay,” he says, and idle grin twisting at his lips before it falls right back off, and he turns back towards the garland of flowers that wound its way down the stair rail.

“Is something wrong with Sigurd, then? Or the flowers? Some people are allergic to flowers. If you are, and you sneeze on me, I will not hesitate, Oifey.”

Oifey decides not to ask what, exactly, Shannan would not hesitate to do. Instead, he shakes his head, shrinking into himself as though to escape scrutiny. “No, no, it's just - Sigurd asked me to be the ringbearer.”

“Deirdre asked the same of me, earlier. Is that your problem?” Despite how easily hostile his words could have been, Shannan sounds perfectly neutral on the situation, as though he already doesn't believe that to be the case. Oifey shakes his head rapidly.

“No, not at all - I hadn't even heard before now, congratulations!” he says, wringing his hands as he finally turns to face the young prince. “I'm sure you must be wonderfully excited to, to dress up like a _proper_ little ringbearer, with a fancy tunic, and cravat, and, and…”

He trails off, gaze dropping back to his hands.

“There will be no wearing of cravats for me. I refuse them utterly. They are stupid, and I hate them.” Shannan snorts derisively. “Deirdre said I could dress as I would for an Isaachian wedding ceremony.”

“Oh,” says Oifey, and his voice, to his ears, sounds very small. “I'm sure that will be very nice.”

Shannan stares at him, several moments too long. “Do you, too, secretly despise the cravats?”

“ _NO!_ ” Oifey cries, with far more force to his voice than strictly necessary. Shannan leans away from him with a frown, and he gives a great and pitiful sniffle. “I don't - I _love_ them! I _want_ to feel fancy, and the thought of being like, looking like Sir Sigurd - it's _thrilling_ , and I _wanted_ it, and I was so _excited_ for it - and then - and then…”

He trails off, absentmindedly grasping and tearing off another leaf. “And then the flowers came. And I didn't, anymore.”

“What about the flowers made you feel so?” Shannan asks in a rarely gentle voice, one hand reaching out to pat Oifey on the back. Oifey shrugs, both unwilling and unable to put his thoughts to words just yet.

“I don't know,” he says in a miserable voice, letting his face sink into his hands. “I just wanted to be _like_ them.”

“Then be like them. Be the delicate and blooming flowerboy you wish to be,” says Shannan with a nonchalant shrug, as though this is no issue whatsoever. Oifey admires him, just a little, for being able to say something one normally does not.

“I can't,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Because - because,” he starts, which isn't very strong at all. “You just… don't. Boys dress up in little suits and fancy cravats and take the rings down the aisle. Girls dress in fancy, flowy clothes, and toss flowerpetals. That's just, that's how things are, no matter what you may wish it to be.”

Shannan stares at him, expression unreadable, and Oifey backtracks, fearing he's somehow offended the other. “I mean - of course you get to dress as you would in Isaach! You're free, and neither you nor Deirdre are bound by Granvallean conventions, so, you can do whatever you want. But I, I'm Sigurd’s cousin, and squire. There's a certain, appearance, that is expected of me.”

“That's stupid,” says Shannan, screwing up his face. “Your Granvallean gender rules are stupid. Why not be a pretty flowerboy? Why not wear flowy clothing? If that is what makes you most comfortable, then why force yourself to wear stiff formalwear that you hate? Sigurd does not seem the kind of person who would force you to. If you told him, he'd probably dress you as you wished, and be just as pleased.”

He pauses for a moment, as though considering his next words. “Besides,” he says, finally, ducking his head in an attempt to hide the way his face screws up with embarrassment, “I think you are pretty enough to be the flowerboy.”

Oifey takes a moment to process these words before flushing bright red, and he spends the next few minutes stammering, unable to think straight. “You - you really think so?”

“Of course!” Shannan declares, quite emphatically. “You shall be the prettiest flowerboy, for the handsomest groom about!" He puffs out his chest, then, and grins. “And I shall be the handsomest ringbearer, for the prettiest bride!”

Oifey giggles at that, and smiles. “Thank you, Shannan,” he says, quite sincerely, leaning his head towards the other boy. “I - I'll talk with Sigurd about it, later.”

Shannan smiles back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “Of course! Anytime!” He falls silent for only a moment, before he huffs, and rolls his eyes. “I do not see why a second ringbearer would be required, anyway. It is not like Isaach here. You do not make a ring out of your own hair to present to your beloved in order to be married. It's stupid.”

Oifey had never heard of this custom before, and he shuffles closer now, hazel eyes wide with curiosity. “Oh? What else do you do, in Isaachian weddings?”

Shannan blinks, as though he hadn't exactly expected Oifey to ask - and then he breaks into a broad grin, and puffs out his chest once more. “Many things! I can tell you all about it. I am an expert on Isaachian weddings, after all.”

“I'd like that,” says Oifey, and even if Shannan isn't as much of an expert as he claims, it's still nice to sit back and listen to him.

* * *

“I told you. Our marriage customs.”

“I know! I know, but Shannan-!”

“I told you. Our courtship customs.”

“Yes, but-!”

“I even told you, the significance of the hair rings.”

“I thought it was a nice gesture from a friend!” Oifey complains, throwing up his arms in a wild shrug. Shannan slams his hands down on the tabletop. 

“Oifey! I love you very much, and at tactics I know of none better! But at emotions, you are a dumbass!”

Below them, Celice tugs on the lower half of Shannan’s coat. “If you're finally getting married, can I toss the flowers?”

Both Oifey and Shannan stop dead in their tracks. After a moment’s silence, Oifey’s face softens to a smile, and he makes his way around the table to scoop the young child into his arms. “Of course you can,” he tells them, voice soft and brimming with pride. “You can, and you'll be the prettiest flowerkid I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Isaachian hair rings was borrowed from Oosawa, since it's like. A custom brought up in/existing in some form of canon, so I didn't have to deep dive into Marriage Customs to find something.
> 
> Did you know that all the countries/duchies have crests? I'm pretty sure they show up in Treasure, but you can also see them on the old trading cards, in the corner. Chalphy's colors are indeed (just a little surprisingly to me, someone who knows little about medieval crests and colors but a lot about Colors I Personally Associate With Characters) red and white, while Granvalle's is gold/black/blue. I thought it would be funny foreshadowing for Deirdre to get that flag's colors.
> 
> ...also I just realized that I consistently misspell Grannvale as "Granvalle" and muscle memory is now too strong to overcome. oops. Please forgive my inability to tell which letters are supposed to be doubled in a word.


End file.
